My Second Time Around
by djFusion
Summary: [COMPLETE] Four different views of Trunks' life growing up as the son of the Prince of all Saiyans. Sometimes, when you look into another's pain, the only thing you can see is yourself. EXTREME ANGSTVERY DARK
1. I

**My Second Time Around**   
_by djFusion_

______________________________________________________________________________________________   
  


I love my son. There's never been any question about that. He's always been everything to me - my perfect child who could do no wrong. 

Well, almost no wrong. 

He _is _a growing boy with Saiyan blood running through his veins, and anything that would most likely be considered 'rough play' for a normal child would have mine tearing the house apart. Regardless, though, I think I love him more than most kids get from both of their parents combined. The only difference is that I have to. For him. To make up for what he so desperately needs and never gets.   
  


I looked out the kitchen window to see a familiar site. For the millionth time this week, my seven-year-old son is out on the lawn, knocking on the heavy steel door of the Gravity Simulator, trying to get the attention of the warrior inside. I stop whatever it was that I was doing to see what will happen next, as if I didn't already know. 

A voice so thunderous came out from inside that metal space-can on my front lawn, _I _could easily hear it from inside the house. Hell, I could feel it from inside the house, nevermind what Trunks was taking from point-blank range. 

"LEAVE ME ALONE, BRAT! I AM NOT GOING TO WASTE MY TIME TODAY TRAINING WITH SOME HALF-BREED CHILD WHO CAN'T FIGHT YET!" 

But instead of the regular reaction of the boy shutting-up and taking a seat on the stairs, he actually talked back. 

"Good for you, Trunks," I found myself whispering under my breath. 

"No, Dad! I can fight now! I'm learning to be a warrior like you! Really!" His voice almost sounded like he was begging, but it never faltered. I knew it was taking every ounce of courage for Trunks to talk back to his father, but I guess everyone has their breaking point. Even the son of the mighty Saiyan Prince, though it took him his entire life to finally get it out. The sound of steam hissed as the room depressurized. 

I somehow don't think Trunks really expected his plea to work.   
  
"_D-Dad_?"   
  
Vegeta has been known to have bad days, or _bad-er_ days, if that's what you would like to call them, but this one was a winner. I honestly didn't know what to expect by the reaction he had plastered across his face, looking as if he were trying to burn a hole right through our son, but I knew it wouldn't be good. "What, brat? Are you that thickheaded? I don't have time for this!" 

Well, that wasn't that bad. From the looks of it, I thought he was really going to tear into him, forcing me to have to deal with a frightened little boy running into the house... again. I strained my hearing, for I knew the young voice about to come out would surely be weak and defeated. 

For the second time that afternoon, the kid proved me wrong. 

"But Dad, I'm strong now! I've learned alot and I want to show you! I can train with you now!" His fists tightened, his face trying to look angry. Like his father. "I can do alot now! Goten's mom showed me..." 

Here we go. 

"What?! _Kakarott's wife_? That woman has no business trying to train you. She's as stupid as her husband was." 

"...But, I'm really strong now, Dad! Will you train me? Chi Chi and Goten think I'm really strong, too." Trunks' tough-kid act was already starting to fade. "I..." 

His speech was cut short as Vegeta forcefully grabbed him by the arm and dragged him off his feet into the middle of the yard. When he got far enough away from the Gravity Simulator, he shoved him forward as he let go to give a decent amount of space between them. 

"You think you have something to prove to me, brat? Well, let's see it?" he taunted. "Show me this 'power' you suddenly have." 

I could see Trunks trying to swallow. So was I. 

As I looked on to the scene taking place on the other side of the window, I realized that I was getting more nervous that I should have been. I mean, I've been preparing myself for that moment ever since Trunks was born, telling myself that it was only a matter of time before Vegeta would start training him - leaving behind my little, innocent boy who preferred to fight with action figures and imaginary friends instead of with real people with power I don't yet understand. Who has come home crying to me with - at worst - scraped knees and splinters, having left me now to look forward to black-eyes and broken bones. I guess I had known from the start that it would only be a matter of time before the Saiyan in him would finally come out. 

I shuddered at the thought, as unavoidable as it was. 

Before I had a chance to process my fears, Trunks was already in stance, small feet firmly planted to the ground, miniature muscles flexing under his oversized tee shirt. Vegeta didn't budge. Not even to humor him. Instead, he plainly stood with his arms crossed, brow knit into a sharp 'V', just like every other day of his life here on Earth, and I could tell Trunks was scared to pieces, if not for what he had to prove, but for the fact that his father was paying even the slightest bit of real interest in him. 

He pushed off and aimed a punch right for Vegeta's face, but it was easily blocked. No contest on that one. He tried again, this time with a side kick to the hip. Vegeta actually let him hit that time, but didn't move in the slightest, practically mocking him by his lack of reaction, save a twitch on his face. It went on for a couple of minutes without any change, and I could see that Trunks was getting frustrated. I'm sure sparing, or whatever it was that he did with Chi Chi when I took him over her house to play with Goten, was a bit different now with the reigning Strongest Man on Earth. But I knew my son pretty well, and being taunted was not something he handled with grace yet. Not at all. 

"C'mon, Dad!! I want to fight with you," he managed to plead through heavy breaths, his fists still balled up tight. "_Dad_?" 

Vegeta suddenly grabbed a fist full of his son's hair and lifted him off the ground, letting his feet dangle as he tried to hold onto his wrist, struggling to break free. I don't think I ever saw panic on Trunks' face before that moment. Who knows what shade of white I turned? 

I froze. 

"This is a waste of my time! You're a waste of my time! Get out of here and don't bother me until you have some kind of strength to show for yourself! GOT IT?" he barked, just inches away from his face. "Although, I don't expect much to come of you. Purple hair, blue eyes... I doubt there's even any Saiyan in you at all." 

He tossed him like a rag doll onto the lawn in front of him, but Trunks caught himself on his hands before he fell with a thud. Without another word said, Vegeta turned his back on him and walked back into the Gravity Simulator, remarking to himself out loud before slamming the door behind him. 

"...Even with me around, this version is still proving to be a waste."   
  
  
  


I couldn't move. 

I felt tears rolling down my cheeks, but I couldn't move. 

I should have run out there. I should have stopped the whole thing before it even happened, but now I was looking at my young son through the window, his eyes glazing over, still sitting up on the grass where he was flung as his bottom lip started to tremble. I heard the machine kick back on, indicating that this particular father/son bonding session was over. 

Small hands gripped through the grass, digging his fingers into the dirt. I prayed that he would again fool me with some unexpected strength out of nowhere - just get up and brush the dirt off his clothes and be fine - but it didn't happen that way. 

Trunks dropped his head and started to cry. _My son was crying_! Never in his seven years had I ever seen, or even heard my son really cry. Not like when he was a cranky infant that wanted to be fed, or when he had knocked out all of his front teeth the time he and Goten thought they would teach themselves how to fly. No, this was different. I watched helplessly as he choked back the sobbing hiccups that shook his body, breaking his heart into a thousand pieces as he experienced first-hand his father's total indifference to him. How it seemed no matter what he did, nothing would ever be good enough. 

I wanted so badly to run out to that damn machine, kick the door down, and beat my husband senseless for crushing my little boy's heart - For single-handedly causing the tears that spilled freely down his face. But before I could even take one step to the door, Trunks was already running into the house, crying his eyes out as he ran past me and up the stairs to his room. I didn't think twice before following him. 

Once I reached the top of the stairs with my heart in my throat, I noticed his bedroom door was open, but a cautious glance inside revealed no Trunks. As I paused to catch my breath from running, I heard faint crying from the bathroom not a second before a loud crash. The voice increased in tremendous volume as I frantically made my way down the hall to my son. The door was unlocked, so I let myself in. 

"Trunks? Honey? Are you okay?" I already knew he wasn't. I don't know why I had to ask that. 

I opened the door fully, and noticed that the bathroom mirror above the sink was shattered by a small fist-sized crack through middle. I spun around and found my son sitting on the floor in the corner, knees hugged into his chest, bawling to the point of almost hysterics. 

I crouched down to his level. "Trunks, it's okay sweetheart. E-Everything will be okay." More things I probably didn't need to say. 

Trunks' entire body tightened and tensed around itself as he squeezed his eyes closed. The hurt he was experiencing was becoming my own, but I didn't know what else to do, watching helplessly as my son ripped his voice to shreds as he started to cry even harder. Deep, crushing pain that I could never understand like he did. His body was shaking wildly and I almost started to think that he was going to lose it, but into what? He was still just seven-year-old child. 

But suddenly, I could feel something snap. His crying broke into a screaming rage, causing everything on the shelves to come crashing to the floor and the tiles underneath him to crack. His voice now sounded like he was in real pain instead of just being upset, as with every emptying of his lungs, he sharply inhaled deeply to cry out even more. Lavender hair started to stand up on end, streaking into an almost white blond right before my eyes as I fell back on my hands, terrified at what was happening to my son. I had never actually seen anyone transform into a Super Saiyan up close before, but I assumed that this was it! 

He threw his arms out violently, crumbling through the wall and the tub beside him as the muscles under his skin visibly started to grow and define. My baby boy was physically in pain and I couldn't do anything about it! I wanted to hold him - calm him from what was happening, but I was scared. I was too scared to hold my own son - for what he might do to us, even if he couldn't control it. 

He continued to lash out, destroying everything around him with the sheer force exerted from his body and I could start to feel the foundation of the house shaking under me. His frame was nearly buckling under the extreme stress. 

And there I was, scared to death to get anywhere near him - watching his body rip apart as I begged Dende to help him, to stop what was happening to him. I couldn't watch and let this happen! He was uncontrollable and violent, but he was still my son... somewhere in there. 

I crawled over to him on the floor and wrapped my arms around him as tight as I could, trying desperately to protect him, though mostly from himself. As I held the back of his head, I could feel the heat radiating through my clothes, almost burning my skin from the touch and making my hair static-up from the energy. I was never so scared in my life. 

"I'm here, Trunks. Mommy's here," trying not to sound as terrified as he was. But as I held on to him with every bit of strength I had, I slowly started to feel his body drop out of it's transformation, leaving me nothing but a little, purple-haired boy sobbing quietly in my arms. Almost instantly, he was reduced to nothing but a trembling, frightened mass and it took me a moment before I realized I was no better off myself. 

"Shhhh, it's okay. It's all over now," I tried to console him as I rest my head on his, gently rubbing his back. 

"I-I.... I'm s-sorry, mom..." he cried softly. His words broke my heart. Here he was, apologizing to me when I was the one who couldn't help him. "I-I d-di- didn't..." he choked up, sniffing under his tears. 

"No no, honey. It's not your fault. It's alright. Shhh, everything's alright now," I whispered. "I love you so much, Trunks. Everything's going to be okay." I wondered if I was trying to assure him or myself. 

We sat in the bathroom for a while, crying and holding each other, knowing that things would be very different for now on. He was no longer my little helpless son, who I could take care of and baby - who looked to me for protection from everything that he didn't know could hurt him in the world. 

No, that little boy was gone now. 

I smoothed over his silken hair, remembering the thought of what he will look like in just a couple of years, hoping that this time he will have a better life - another me that will do anything to save him from having to become that sad young man who had to grow up too fast because of his awesome responsibility. I wanted to hold him in my arms forever and tell him that everything was going to be better this time. But only this time around, he has the pain of a broken heart for another reason - a reason his other never had the experience to be denied. 

My son knows his father this time... but now I think it might be harder this way. 

From the looks of my bathroom, it probably is. ~   
  
  
  



	2. II

**My Second Time Around**   
_by djFusion_   
________________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  
  
  


I hate Trunks. 

No, wait. I don't mean that. 

Trunks is a great kid. Really, he is. He's certainly a lot tougher than I ever was as at his age, that's for sure. I hate to say it, but even being only eight years old, I'm pretty sure the kid could easily take me in a fight! 

But everytime I look at him and stare into that little pissed-off face of his, he does nothing but remind me of what I lost - what she did to me - and no matter how much I try to see things differently, it hurts everytime I look at him. 

It's been that way ever since I first laid eyes on the little purple-haired kid. I didn't want to believe it. I mean, I suspected that Bulma had slept with... that maniac, but I tried to tell myself that we could work these things out. That hey, everyone makes mistakes..._ right_? I would forgive her, and in time, everything would go back to the way things were for the previous sixteen years. It was just how things were supposed to be. 

I loved her. 

But then Trunks came along. 

He became the indeniable force that would bind them together for life, whether they were willing to it or not. They shared a child together now, and no matter what I felt for her, I couldn't compete with that. Soon, I became 'that pathetic, human ex-boyfriend of hers', tossed aside for the arrogant Prince who stole her away from me. In the end, he got everything and I got nothing. The part that hurts the most is that I don't even think he wants it.   
  
  
  


As I pull up to the front of Capsule Corporation, I can hear all kinds of commotion coming out of the Gravity Simulator on the front lawn. No doubt, father and son are training for the up-coming World Martial Arts Tournament, now only weeks away. Just another reason for me to add to the list of why I'm not even thinking about entering_ this_ one. I mean, I could feel their power levels from back at my place! 

I get out of the car and head into the house, trying not to think about it. But, the second I step a foot into the door, I'm immediately greeted with an all too familiar smile. "Yamcha! I was waiting you to get here already!" It's almost like I never left. "Did you bring the Dragon Radar back?" 

"I've got it right here, babe!" Amazing - we've known each other for so long, yet our conversations have barely changed. She's still *my* Bulma, even if I'm only the friend now. I should be more grateful for that, though. She didn't have to remain so close to me all these years. God knows Vegeta never approved of his wife hanging around a weakling like me. But I don't know what I would do if I couldn't randomly stop by anymore, or ask her to lunch every now and again without a reason. I look forward to those things. 

It's all I got. 

Before we get into any other conversation, that arrogant husband of hers comes marching through the door. I'd be lying if I didn't say I was slightly intimidated. Do you _know_ who I'm talking about here? 

He doesn't give us the least bit of acknowledgement besides a sarcastic snort directed towards me, I'm sure. 

"Vegeta, can you call Trunks in? Lunch is ready," she cheerfully asks, despite the fact he completely ignored her. 

"Humph! I don't think the brat wants to eat right now." 

"What? Why? Wasn't he just training with you in the Gravity Simulator?" I can already sense that she's worried. 

Vegeta is near halfway across the house before he even answers her question. "He's lying on the floor in there. You might want to clean him up first." 

"Clean him up!? Wh-..." she cut off, dropping everything in her hands to run out the side door to the front lawn. I don't hesitate to follow her. 

The second she reaches the machine parked on her front lawn, she throws open the door of the Gravity Simulator. There, lying face down, was her eight-year-old son, just about unconscious and whimpering on the floor. 

"TRUNKS!!" We rush over and turned him on his back. But other than the blood dripping down his face from one hell of a broken nose, it appeared that he would be okay. "Sweetheart? Wake up! Please, Trunks..." she pleaded, smoothing the strands of lavender hair away from his face. His eyes fluttered for a second before half-lidding them to look at her. It took him a second to say something. 

"M-Mom...? Where, where's Dad?" 

"Don't worry about that now, honey. We're taking you inside to get you cleaned up." She turns to me, amazingly calm about the situation. I take it this isn't the first time this has happened. "Yamcha, can you carry him in for me?" Without hesitation, I bend over to scoop him up in my arms, ignoring the fact that his blood is getting all over my new suit. It doesn't really matter now. 

"Uncle Yamcha... g-guess what? My Dad is going to take me to the park!" His eyes sparkled with excitement. "He promised! Did he l-leave without me?" 

Now, the boy's obviously pretty out of it, but _these_ are the words he chooses to force out? From the corner of my eye, I can see Bulma ready to cry as I answer him. 

"Uh... no, sport. He's inside. Why don't we get you fixed up first, though, okay?" I tell him softly as I carry him into the house, doing my best to remain neutral about the situation and not bad-mouth his father in front of the boy.   
  


After Bulma washes off his face and determines that the bones don't need to be reset, she leaves to get an ice pack, leaving Trunks and me alone in the room for a moment. He's pretty resilient, I'll give him that. Not one tear throughout the whole ordeal. 

"Uncle Yamcha! I showed my Dad that I can transform today! Just like him! I think he was really suprised!" he eagerly tells me. I act like this is new news, even though I've known about Trunks being able to turn Super Saiyan since the day it happened over a year ago. When Bulma tried talk to her husband about it and couldn't, she instinctively called me, but as much as I was happy about her coming to me at all, I honestly had no idea why she did. Like I have any clue what do about something like that! Sure I've seen Goku and Gohan, even Vegeta, go Super Saiyan before, but I'm probably the last person she should have called for advice on it. 

"He said he would take me to the park if I could hit him in the face and _I did_! Did he tell you? Did he say when we're going to go?" 

I was at a complete loss for words. How do you respond to something like that when you know the truth will just crush him? Before I was able to conjure up some ridiculous lie, Bulma saved me in just the nick of time. 

"Here you go, Trunks," she said, handing him an ice pack from the freezer downstairs. "Put this on your face for the swelling. Do you want anything I can get for you?" She such a mother. I smile at the thought. 

"Where's Dad? We're going to the park! He said so himself!" he announced so proudly, smiling from ear to ear. Bulma's expression softened at her son's words. She already knows what his reaction will be in a minute. 

"Um, sweetheart. Maybe you'll go to the park with your father another day, okay? You should rest," she tried to say, gently pushing him back to lie down on the bed. It was no shocker when he resisted, sounding more persistent than he had before. 

"No, Mom! Dad promised me! He did! He said he would take me to the park for an hour, just me and him!" Trunks attempted to get out of the bed, but before he could get up, Bulma knelt down in front of him, placing her hands on his small shoulders. 

"Trunks, your father... is busy right now, but maybe Goten would like to come over and play. What about a sleepover? How's that sound?" She cracked the weakest smile I've ever seen. Almost instantly, fat tears began welling up in his eyes, face about to break apart. 

I hate this. Not only did that jackass husband of hers knock out his own kid, but now he was breaking his heart, too. For as hard as it is for me to look at Trunks and not be reminded of the act that brought him into this world, my heart was breaking right along with him.   
  


If Trunks were my son, things would be different. I know I would be ten times the father Vegeta is, bonding with him the way dad's are supposed to bond with their sons, giving him a male role model that he could look up to instead of fearfully respect all of the time. 

I think of how things would have been had Trunks been my son... if Bulma was my wife... if we were the family that should have happened instead of this. 

But instead, I'm the odd man out. I screwed up my chance. Bulma's chance. Trunks' chance. My chance to have a family that I would have done anything for and loved unconditionally. For Bulma to have a son that would have looked more like me, instead of the spitting image of that arrogant asshole. Instead of this empty heart in the boy that now sits in front of us on the verge of crying. 

I want so badly to get a second chance for all of this - to win her over again - to hold on to her tighter when I should have. Instead, I got the consolation prize - the constant reminder that I lost everything I ever wanted because I was too stupid to fight for it.   
  
  
  


After making up some story to Trunks about why Vegeta couldn't take him to the park, Bulma finally got her son to feel better. God knows how many times she's had to do this before? She called Chi Chi to drop off Goten, and within an hour, Trunks was back to his old self, save the dark black and blues under his eyes and across the bridge of his nose. 

As I'm walking out to my car after having coffee with Bulma, I see the two boys sparring on the lawn. Man, they sure are stronger than me, Krillin, and Goku were as kids! They both stop and straighten up once I get close. It's almost embarrassing how I _just know _they can tell that they're stronger than probably two of me combined! Talk about a blow to the ego! 

"Hey guys! What's happing? I heard that you two are entering the Tournament? Are you ready yet?" 

"You bet!" they both boast in unison. I smile at their young energy. _Wow... I suddenly feel like how Master Roshi must have felt all those years!_

"Well, I'm not doing anything now... and since you guys have been training so hard lately..." Their eyes widen at my lead. "How would you boys like it if I took you to the amusement park tonight?" 

"YEAAAA!" they shriek and bubble over with excitement at my offer. Immediately, the two demi-Saiyans simultaneously run into the house to tell Bulma about where they're going, screaming and carrying on like young boys do. But, somehow, I can't help but feel sorry for Trunks._ I _shouldn't be the one who makes his face light up like this._ I_ shouldn't be the one who is making him so happy right now, as much as I wish it were. 

No, his father should be doing these things with him, even as uncaring and indifferent as the bastard usually is about his son. _I _would be proud to be a father to Trunks, but that chance is gone. 

Vegeta doesn't deserve a great kid like Trunks for a son and it kills me that he doesn't know how to treat him, or to be thankful that he even has a son at all! Instead, I watch as he neglects his boy, and forgets that there is someone out there who would fill his 'royal shoes' in a heartbeat... if I only could. The hardest realization is knowing thatIwas the stupid one who let it all slip away. 

I _won't_ make that mistake next time, even though I know I might never get the chance. ~   
  
  
  
  
  



	3. III

**My Second Time Around**   
_by djFusion_   
______________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  
  


So, the woman tells me my son wants to be a warrior. That brat has no idea what it means to be a warrior! My kid has had a more coddled life than a pregnant royal had on Planet Vegeta, and now he wants me to teach him to be a 'Saiyan Warrior'? For his sake, I hope he's not serious. 

What gives him the right to think he's even the kind of material for something like that? So he knows some decent fighting skills and learned to fuse with one of Kakarott's half-breeds... that means nothing in real battle! He made that perfectly clear when he openly made a mockery of his heritage fighting Majin Buu as that idiotic Gotenks character. 

Uh, I can't believe that whole scenario even happened! 

I have noticed that the kid has been hanging around Kakarott's two brats more often, though. Just yesterday, I overheard his oldest tell my wife that apparently Kakarott doesn't think I can train Trunks anymore, so he's been taking it upon himself to include him in their own daily nonsense sessions. He even commented how he thinks my ten-year-old son is actually stronger than that boy from the future who came to warn us about the androids. I doubt that, and spit at the thought of that moron teaching _my_ son anything. That's the last thing I need - for Trunks to start fighting with all kinds of 'emotions' and 'feelings'. What's next? 

True Saiyans fight with pride, not all of that garbage Kakarott preaches... but I guess a third class soldier who's never stepped foot on his home soil wouldn't know anything about that, now would he? If it weren't for the fact that this damn planet lived virtually unthreatened in these past years, Trunks would already be developing into a formative fighter by now. But because of this comfortable life style he has become so accustomed to, he has severely lacked the survival experiences that harden a boy into a warrior. 

Maybe it's time to change that...   
  
  
  
  
  


I find the boy in his room, again polishing that ridiculous sword he was given for the hundredth time. God, I hope he doesn't start toting that thing around everywhere like Kakarott used to do with that stupid bow staff. I clear my throat, hoping to at least give him a jump. 

"We're going to the clearing tomorrow, so get up early! Understood?" As suspected, I left the boy speechless. He blinks a couple of times before opening his mouth. 

"O-Okay, Dad!" For whatever reason, he was starting to crack a smile. Did he think I was joking? 

"You mean it? Just you and me? To train?" 

_What?_ Now he looks even thrilled at the prospect! Does he think we're going out there to play games or whatever the hell he usually does out there with that other little brat he tags along with? 

"Get up early! We're leaving at six!" I leave the doorway immediately as not catch his response. Quite frankly, I don't want to see it. The boy has become entirely too excited about serious training lately, even though that's not what I intend to do with him. 

You see, if there is one thing I've picked up from that simpleton, idiot- Saiyan, it's that you have to push yourself until you crack - until you are given an ultimatum for survival in order to unleash your true hidden power. It happened with me in space when I was training to become a Super Saiyan. It happened with Gohan at the Cell Games. I know it will happen with Trunks tomorrow. 

I'll show everyone who can train his own son! 

As I walk down the hallway, I can already hear my son babbling over the phone to that friend of his, going on and on about how 'fun' tomorrow will be. _Fun? _Regardless of what kind of brain capabilities his mother has, the kid isn't always the sharpest knife in the drawer. I wonder where he gets it from? Definitely not my side.   
  
  
  


Even before I get out of bed - and mind you, I get up pretty early for Earth's standards - I can hear the brat already up and running about the house like there's a damn party going on. From my guess of it, he probably never even went to sleep! I get ready and head downstairs to see him eating cereal out of one of those big bowls the woman uses for cooking. 

I fold my arms and turn on my harshest sounding voice behind him. "Let's go! I am not wasting anymore time with you than I have to!" That should calm him down, all though, I am a little surprised when it actually works. 

He stands at attention, straightening the sash around his waist, attempting to look all official about this 'father-son outing' he thinks I have planned. After swallowing the food with a loud gulp, he flashes that same obnoxious grin that Kakarott's spawn uses. The fact that he's even remotely happy about this is making me furious. 

I start walking out the door and shout back to him once I notice that he's still stuck in stun mode at the kitchen table. "Trunks! NOW!"   
  
  
  


The moment we reach the same familiar clearing of the woods I've trained both the boy and myself in sporadically over the past ten years, I open up the space between us and begin. I'm not concerned with warming up - you don't get a chance to stretch before a real battle, so why baby him now? Without even being aware of it, I fully power up to my second stage, nearly scaring the shit out of my son. It only takes him a second before he follows my lead and transforms into a Super Saiyan as well, all though not quite to the same dynamic as myself. 

I don't give him the chance to take a breath before I hit him hard with a punch to his smug face, knocking him flat on his ass. "Pay attention, brat!" 

Trunks covers his mouth with his hand and wipes away a smear of blood. For whatever reason, he looks at it dumbfounded for a second, like the kid has never seen his own blood before. I run up to him and kick him square in the chest. "Do you think an enemy will wait for you to wipe your face off? GET UP!" 

But to my complete surprise, he shakes it off, stands up, and looks back up to me with a smile. _A real fucking smile_! Does he think that this is a game were playing? 

"Okay, Dad! I'm ready!" he spouts out, like he's _enthusiastic_ about getting pounded into the ground. The brat is perhaps more resilient than I thought. "Show me how to be a Saiyan, Dad! A_ real _Saiyan... like you!" 

The words should have made me pleased, I suppose. But I grew more annoyed by the second at his total disregard to being serious about what I was trying to do. You don't smile in battle and you certainly don't try to suck up! Time to step it up a notch and wipe that grin off his face with another smack of reality. 

I came at him again, but this time he countered. Even at his age, I'm pretty surprised at how creative and improvisational he can be in a fight. I carry it on like this for a while, landing devastating hits all over his frame, but I'd be lying if I didn't say he landed a few good ones on me, too. 

I notice the look in his eyes. He's trying to prove something - to force me to see something in him. I remember once having that look in my own eyes, in the palace training with my father. I was so young back then, but I remember my father pushing me - forcing me to be stronger. I know what he was trying to do now, but I didn't then. He wanted me to be strong enough to take on Frieza someday - to become the Legendary Super Saiyan that he always told me I would be. I wanted to make him so proud of me. 

It makes me angry that he never got to see what I've become.   
  


I focus back to what I was doing and glance down to see Trunks on his hands and knees, wincing in pain at my feet, clutching his side with his arm wrapped around his midriff. I must have got him pretty hard when I was distracted with my thoughts, and from the looks of it, I'd say his other arm is broken by the way it's just hanging from the socket. Not only that, his hair isn't nearly as golden as it was when we started, now weighted down by the strips of purple bleeding through it. 

Look! Not an ounce of fighting instinct in him - he's already let down his guard and now he's shown his opponent his injuries. I grab him by the wrist and hold him up so that I exposed his bruised rib cage, causing a whimper to leak out under his breath. 

"You NEVER show your enemy your weakness! What do you think will happen when they EXPLOIT IT?!" I scream, as I start pounding into him hard, punching his side over and over again until I can feel the bones crushing under my fist to teach him. He barely makes an attempt to fight back, even though his only free arm is broken and just about useless. His body collapses into my fist. But even though every punch and kick I land forces out another scream, the power surge I'm waiting for doesn't come. 

I finish my example on him and let him drop to the ground. At least he learned a lesson from it. However, as soon as I release, he falls on his hands and knees and starts throwing up. Why is he so fucking weak? 

"Get UP!! Get up and fight, you brainless child! A warrior does not roll over and wait for death in battle! DO YOU HEAR ME?!" His current lack of strength and stamina is disgusting me. No son of mine - the son of a super elite - will be this soft, this gutless in a fight. I listen to his breathing for a moment, sharp and uncontrolled before he somehow pushes himself back onto his knees. He's shaking or spasming, but if I didn't know any better, I would say he's just about ready to cry. 

"P-Please, I'm... s-sorry. I wa-want to stop now. It hurts..." 

"Frieza didn't care when I said that to him!! He didn't show sympathy to ANYTHING! He enjoyed to hear the desperate begging for life, only to mercilessly take it away!" I can feel myself powering up. "DEFEND YOURSELF! FIGHT BACK! Is this what you would do in battle, Trunks? IS IT?! Would you just fucking roll over and die?!" 

Trunks grabs on to my hand, choking out his words like a sobbing, human child. "I d-don't want to fight anymore, Dad... please... I-I wa-want to go home." 

I feel my blood starting to boil. I can't even see straight. I will not give into this childish weakness like every other time I've tried to train him. I want him to release his fucking power already, and I am not going to hesitate to beat him senseless for it to happen! 

I grab his arms, crushing them to his sides, and yank him up to hear me. He bites his lip and draws blood in some desperate attempt not to scream out again. Or maybe he's trying not to cry? I'm so mad about it, I can only manage to grit my words through my teeth. 

"YOU NEVER BEG FOR YOUR LIFE! NEVER!!! DO YOU HEAR ME?!? You are dishonoring your race and everything it means to be a Saiyan!!" 

He's coughing up blood now. It hits me in the face. "D-Dad, pl-please stop. I... c-can't... please... you're h-hurting me!" I can't tell if those are tears running down his face or sweat. 

"Do you think Frieza cared that he was hurting me?! Did he give a fuck that I was only a boy and didn't know what it meant to 'learn your place'?! Do you know what kind of humiliation that is? DO YOU?! ANSWER ME!!" 

I remember all of it. I was begging for my life - for him to stop, to let me go. It hurt so badly, and I just fucking let him destroy the life I was supposed to have without ever fighting back. I never even tried! Why the fuck didn't I fight back?! 

I can still feel the punches across my face, over and over and over again. I can see myself in his throne room on the ship. That little bloody child in his claws, screaming for his father who would never come. 

I lost it. 

I want Frieza to be alive again. I want to rip him to pieces and make him pay for everything he did to me. He killed my father - my race - my planet. I was only five years old! I was too young to understand what real death was - that it meant that I would have to fight alone for the rest of my life - that nobody would save me and I was too weak to do anything about it on my own. I hate myself for letting it all happen. I want to go back. I want to see that stupid little boy who was too fucking scared to defend himself. 

I could feel something inside of me break. 

_The choke of crying, clawing to break away._

"Fight back! Fucking FIGHT BACK!! Why are you letting this happen to you!" 

_The sound of breaking pain, a body thrown to the ground. Gasping, silent screams that nobody hears._

"You didn't listen to him! You were supposed to be stronger! Why are you letting this fucking happen?!?" 

_Teeth knocked out. Blood splattering under faint crying._

"Nobody's going to save you, you stupid boy! You were supposed to save yourself! You're welcoming everything he's doing to you by not fighting back. This is exactly what he wants!" 

_The smack of a wet fist onto a bloodied face. Again. And again. And again._

_Eventually, there isn't more resistance. No more screaming. No more crying._   
  
  
  
  
  
  


I don't even know where I am anymore.   
  
  
  
  
  
  


I open my eyes. 

I'm looking over that cliff, not too far from the clearing. I don't even know how I got here. My mind is attacking me with so many graphic memories that I never wanted to remember again - thinking of how my father told me he believed in me as I fell asleep the night before he was killed... hearing a little, scared boy crying alone in the bowels of Frieza's ship because he was the only one left - because he knew that for the rest of his life he would be enslaved under the ruthless hand of Frieza himself. 

I _did_ want to be strong, but I couldn't do it. I didn't know how. I was only a boy. 

Now I think of a different little boy crying, alone in his room that one night as I walk quietly past his door. The woman told me he transformed that day, but I didn't believe her. I don't think I _wanted_ to believe her. But there he was, lying alone in his bed, probably scared out of his mind because nobody was there to help him - nobody who could understand how incredibly painful the first transformation is, and to show him how to control it. 

I can hear him again, after the first time I had actually seen it with my own eyes, taunting him to hit me, only to hit him back. I just... wanted to see his power. I couldn't believe _my_ eight-year-old son was Super Saiyan, after it had taken my entire life to achieve the very same thing. I didn't intend to hit him back. It was just a reflex. And honestly, I didn't think he would _want_ to go to the park after all that. But the real truth is I don't think I would have been able to look at him, either. 

I should have been proud of my son, but I hurt him instead. 

My mind keeps flooding back to all of the times I've repeatedly ignored him and threw him aside, but he never gave up, did he? Over the years, my son has displayed more bravery than any other Saiyan child I have ever seen, not once giving into fear before trying to save his planet and myself from an enemy like Majin Buu. He has reached the very pinnacle of our race at an age that should be completely impossible, and has surpassed anything that I was ever able to do at even twice his age! He's powerful, resilient, brave... everything I always imagined _my son_ - the son of the Prince of all Saiyans - would be. But yet, I still reject him. 

I may have hated Frieza for all of the torture he inflicted on me, but I do the same to Trunks everyday and he _still _gives me unconditional love in return, despite being treated so cruelly. 

_What does that make of me?_

I glance down at my stained gloves, realizing that the blood splattered on them is my own, even if it came from another. I tighten my fist as I close my eyes. My voice is barely audible. "Trunks, let's go. We're going home." 

No response. 

I glance around for him, but he isn't anywhere close. Where did he go? I scan over the area and find him exactly where we must have left off, still face down in a trench of dirt. I don't think I can handle it if he's crying. 

I carefully walk down the side of the rocks and make my way through the empty clearing to where he's lying on the ground. The mid-day sun is starting to get hot. "Trunks? Come now. We're going home." 

No response. Not even a flinch. 

I feel a lump beginning to form in my throat as I get closer to see a pool of red puddling under his form of tangled limbs. _Oh God, no..._

I bend down to tilt his face back and I'm horrified. I can barely tell it's my son. His face is so badly beaten and bruised, almost beyond recognition, that it doesn't even look like him anymore, save a patch of lavender hair that's not soaked with blood. His life force is so faint, I'm not even sure it's there. 

"TRUNKS! TRUNKS! Look at me!! TRUNKS!!" I shake him, but his limp body doesn't respond. "TRUNKS!!" I break into a full-blown panic at the thought of that in my blinded rage, I might have killed my only son. 

_Think quick!_

I pick him up and immediately take off to the only place I know I can go, and as much as I hate to admit it, the only person that can help me now. As I accelerate to full speed, cradling him in my arms, I realize how foreign it feels to actually be holding my son.   
  
  
  


"KAKAROTT! GET OUT HERE! QUICK!" I shout, as I near the house and touch down on the grass, Trunks still hanging across my arms. The house is so small, I probably would have missed it had not been for the unmistakable ki signatures pouring out of it. 

Great, all three of them are home! 

"KAKAROTT!!" 

It doesn't take him more than a second to run outside. I mean, when was the last time _I've_ ever asked someone for help, much less him? I would imagine that would send anyone running, if not out of pure curiosity. His eyes immediately look down to the bloody mess in my arms and turns the palest shade of white I've ever seen anyone take on. Perfect! Of all times I want him to shut up, _now_ he's at a loss for words. 

"Don't just stand there, you idiot! HELP ME!" 

He can barely speak. "V-Vegeta... wh-, h-how did this happen?" 

Before I'm able to rip his head off for being so paralyzed in such a dire situation, his two brats come running out of the house to see what's going on. At least it didn't take them as long to react. 

"TRUNKS! NO!! What did you do to him?!" his youngest screams, already accusing me of doing this... not that he should be thinking any differently. Gohan runs up behind him and holds him back, giving him a hell of a struggle in order to keep the kid under control. "No! Let me go! Trunks needs my help!_ Nnnn_... Gohan, PLEASE... LET... GO!" 

Kakarott finally snaps out of his initial shock and quickly summons Gohan to retrieve a senzu bean from inside the house, holding on to his small, hysterical son while he's gone. Even Kakarott has to struggle to hold on to him tightly. 

"Listen, Goten... look at me! Trunks is going to be alright. Okay? I need you to calm down," he tells him in a surprisingly stern manner. The boy starts crying. I watch as my Saiyan counterpart holds his sobbing son into his chest, gently rubbing his back and reassuring him everything will be okay - that Trunks is strong and he'll be fine once he gets a senzu bean. 

I look down to Trunks, draped lifelessly across my arms, bleeding and barely recognizable, and think of what I did when _my son _was scared and crying... 

I beat him further into inch of his life. 

I glance back to the little father-son bonding moment in front of me, getting a look from Kakarott that I haven't seen in years, not since our last battle. Even then, I don't remember it feeling so degrading. I try in vain to explain my actions, even though there isn't anything I can say that can justify_ this_. 

My voice sounds numb. "I-I just wanted to push him. I wanted him to... to fight back. To be fearless of his enemy..." 

"He would NEVER fight you, Vegeta. He loves you! You're not his enemy. _You're his father!_" 

I can't even look at him. I feel dead inside. 

Within seconds, Gohan comes flying out of the house, bean in hand. I set Trunks down on the grass and prop his head up, silently praying that this will be enough. 

"Give it to me NOW!" I demand. 

"But, he has to swallow it..." 

"JUST GIVE IT TO ME!" I grab it out of the older boy's hand, snap it in half between my front teeth and push it far into his mouth. I shudder when I can feel that most of his teeth have already been knocked out from earlier. I push it down as far as I can reach, and watch intently for any sign of it working. 

We wait. 

A minute goes by. 

Another. 

Suddenly, Trunks starts gasping for air, coughing up the blood that had been pooling in his lungs from the damage I caused. His body spasms violently, desperately trying to heal itself, but physically there doesn't appear to be much of a difference. 

"Why isn't he fully healing? The senzu bean should be working better than this!" I yell, wanting to know why his body still looks so torn apart. 

"That bean is pretty old, Vegeta. I haven't been to Korrin's to get new ones since Majin Buu. I don't think it will heal him completely. His injuries... they're really bad..." Kakarott goes on, like I don't fucking know how injured my son is. Obviously there's nothing more he can do for him. 

I have to get out of here. 

I pick up Trunks, still shaking and spitting up blood, and fly back towards West City. I don't say good bye. It didn't even come to mind.   
  


I bring my son home and carry him up to his room. The woman's not here, at least giving me a chance to clean him up before she sees him. I can only imagine the wrath that this is going to bring! I lay him down on his bed to tear the bloody clothes off his body and suddenly feel nauseated at the first full view of the damage I've done - The right side of his torso is covered in dark purple welts the same size as my fist, and his arm - all though no longer broken - still needs to be tended to. I can barely look. 

I go into the bathroom and bring back a wet towel to start wiping off the blood and dirt. Once I clean off most of the mess, I notice, to my relief, that nearly all of the actual breaks in the skin have already healed, leaving only the swelled bruises over his face and body along with a mouthful of missing teeth. I finish washing him off as best as I can, and pull the covers over him to keep him warm until Bulma comes home. I wish I could say that I knew what to do at this point, but I've never had to deal with injuries this severe without the aid of a Regeneration Tank or Dende on hand. 

He's in alot of pain, I can tell. He's still pretty much unconscious and hasn't opened his eyes yet, but I don't think I want him to. I don't know how he will react when he sees me. 

I don't know how _I _will react when he sees me.   
  
  
  


For the next couple of weeks, I find myself avoiding the house as much as I can, spending most of my time alone out in the woods. Training. Thinking. Wondering how things will turn out... 

The few times I do actually return home, it's almost unbearable. If not for the dirty looks I get from my wife, it's the sitting at the dinner table, looking at the near disfigured face across from me while being unable to say anything back to him... Or to walk past his room in the middle of the night to hear him quietly sobbing in his pillow in the dark. 

This is my torture. 

Somewhere during all this, I realized that I stopped hearing the little determined voice that would always beg me to train him... to spend time with him. My son no longer eagerly pounded on the door of my Gravity Simulator at all hours of the day to let him in, and the enthusiasm that had once beamed across his young face slowly faded into the same expression of that sad young man I remember from so long ago. 

I think he's been training with Goten these days, or so I assume. He doesn't talk to me about it anymore like he used to - always going on about what they did that day or what he learned - but I don't exactly make the effort to ask. I can hardly look at him, much less say anything. 

I miss the boy I had grown so accustomed to always being around. 

I find myself thinking about my grown son from that other timeline alot lately. He tried everything to please me and I did nothing but ignore him, no matter how much he impressed me. I sat there and watched as Cell killed him and I did _nothing_ to save him! I wanted a second chance - to be the father for my strong son - to tell him that I was proud of him instead of letting him die. 

But I_ did_ get that second chance. I told myself things would be different for Trunks with me around this time - to train him and make him stronger and more powerful, more so than even Kakarott's son! 

Even after I was given the chance to come back to this world, I _still_ thought that I could change for him. At the moment of my sacrifice, it was what I regretted the most. But still, I failed him. I forgot what kind of father I should have been the first time, the same one _I _wanted so badly as a boy myself. But when I really think about it, I wonder if Trunks ever wanted to be a warrior or a fighter at all. Maybe he just wanted to make me proud of him the only way he knew how, and I denied him of even that!   
  
  
  


Months... years go by as I watch Trunks grow into a strong young man, no longer the eager little boy who would always be at my side, though I never really noticed until later. I want a second chance to be his father - to tell him that I'm proud of him again, and that I was just too stubborn to tell him so many other times before. I've noticed his fighting skills probably aren't what they could be by now, but then again, I suppose he isn't exactly the same son I used to have, either. 

Every now and then, I can see the disappointment in his eyes - the disappointment for me - but I never try to make things right like I should. I don't think I can. Even after a lifetime of training myself to be stronger and more powerful, I'm still too weak to fight for the life I'm supposed to have... 

I lost my second chance with Trunks, and failed again to save him from the enemy. 

Only this time, the enemy was me.   
  
  
  



	4. VI

**My Second Time Around**   
_by djFusion_   
______________________________________________________________________________________________

  
  
  


Punch. Throw. Kick. Punch again. 

Counter. Sweep. Punch. Block. 

_Damnit!_

Jab. Duck. Block. Another block. 

Roundhouse. Hook. Counter punch. Kick. 

Connect! 

Spin. Stumble back. Fall.   
  
  


"Are you okay?" I ask more satisfied that I actually landed something than concerned that I might have hurt him. After all, this was the first success either of us has had all day. He easily shakes it off. 

"No," my counterpart quickly retorts, wiping a trickle of blood from the side of his mouth. He looks at the smudge on the back of his hand, then sharply back at me. 

"Hey, you should have seen that coming. What did you want me to do? Wait for you to move out of the way?" I half joke. Sparing with him lately has become almost pointless ever since we've been through each other's mind and body. I know his reactions. He knows my reflexes. It's like trying to spar with another part of yourself. 

Well actually... that's _exactly _what we're trying to do. 

"I thought you wanted to take it easy today, Trunks? You didn't have to hit _that_ hard," he stifles a tiny laugh under his breath, but I knew he wasn't serious from the start. I've known this boy my entire life. There isn't anything either of us doesn't know about each other. Not at this point. I walk over to where he's still leaning back on his hands in the grass, rubbing his bottom lip that's already starting to swell. 

I offer out a hand to help him up. "C'mon, let's call it a day with this. I'll race you back to your house. Do you _need_ a head start?" I smirk with a twist of sarcasm, getting an evil eye in return. We're so comfortable with each other a response isn't even needed. 

I'm thirteen years old today. Goten will be twelve in about a week. It's amazing how similar we are, minus the slight age difference and physical traits - We've both seen the world through the same eyes. We can both melt glass and blast rocks with our bare hands. We were both born with tails. You know... the things that make two kids best friends. 

Except, there is a difference now, as I'm painfully reminded of every time we see each other. 

Kinda like today. 

As we close in on his humble home nestled deep in the woods, alone for miles in every direction, we can already see Goku coming out to greet us. The man is never completely unaware of where his kids are or what they're doing at any given moment. I wonder if that's necessarily a good thing? We land on the lawn as he sets down an enormous pile of firewood at his feet, nearly the size of a small forest. He approaches us with a warm smile, not the least bit hesitant to openly show fatherly affection towards his son right in front of me. 

"So, how's the training going, boys," he asks, ruffling Goten's wild hair into an even more chaotic mess. He notices his son's puffy lip, holding his chin up to get a better look. "I see the birthday boy got a pretty good shot on you today, huh?" I crack a smile. 

"...Only because I knew Chibi didn't see it coming." Well, it's the truth. 

"Goten, why don't you go inside and get your mother to clean that up for you?" He sounds so caring. I remind myself again that I shouldn't resent my best friend for what he has and I don't. 

I watch as Goku pats his son on the back and sends him into the house, making some silly remark about his mother probably being more worried about the dirt on his shoes than the blood on his face. I pretend to laugh - Goten's dad can have the corniest humor sometimes. 

He takes a couple of steps closer, genuinely interested in talking to me for whatever reason. "So Trunks, what do you and Goten have planned for the 'big thirteen'?" 

"Well, I think me and Goten are going to the movies, and then later my parents are going to take us out to..." I feel stupid lying to him. "I mean, my mom and I, well..." I just shut up, noting that I've backed myself into quite a corner. There's no use trying to pretend, but I already know I don't have to say anything else; I can see by the look I'm getting that it's pretty clear he knows what I'm trying to hide. 

"You know, Trunks, you're a very strong boy for your age. Actually, I don't even think Gohan or myself were as powerful as you when we were your age. Did you know that?" That's his blatant attempt to change the subject for me, I guess. 

"Thanks." Do I care? 

"You've made him very proud. You know that, right?" 

I don't want to talk about it. 

"Yea, I know. Everyone tells me that." Maybe that came out a little too sarcastic, but I hate hearing stuff like this from the World's Best Dad. What does he know about neglect? Lately, I feel Goku has been more of a father to me than my own has. I wonder if it would have always been that way had he been around when Goten and me were little kids? 

Even from where we're standing, we can hear Chi Chi starting to rip into her youngest son for tracking mud over her kitchen floor, as expected. Goku laughs under his breath. "Why don't you go help Goten survive his mother for me? I'm going to go ahead and bring in the rest of the wood." He puts his hand on my head, already beating my father in the physical contact department with just one touch. "You're a great kid, Trunks, and you'll always be a part of our family." I think he meant for that to make me feel better, but it only makes thing worse. 

"Thanks, Goku." I say to the ground with a weak smile, and head into the house.   
  


You know, over the past few years, I've come to realize that training isn't so important to me anymore. Goten still trains at the butt-crack of dawn every morning with his brother or his dad, but I haven't been that serious about it since... who-knows-when. 

No. That's a lie. I_ do_ know when. 

I find myself spending less and less time around my house. Goten and me hang out all the time now, probably even more than we used to, but training isn't the first thing on my priority list anymore like when I was younger. I can't remember the last new thing I learned outside of the mundane sparring routine I go through with Goten, and I'm well aware of the fact that I haven't been getting any stronger, but does it matter to me? 

No, probably not. 

We do other things, normal-kid things that I forgot normal kids do. I think about just being a normal kid all the time now. Like, what it would be to be fully human, or if I never got into martial arts in the first place, or if I just got to go to school like everyone else and not have to keep most of my life a secret from everyone... or maybe what it would be like if I never had the Prince of all Saiyans as my father. Would my life be any different? Would something else have just cropped up in its place to make me even more miserable than I already am? 

My mother told me about the Cell Games - how there was a future version of myself at one time that came to help. I really didn't believe her until she showed me a picture a few years ago, and let me tell you, it's weird to look at yourself years older than you already are! I think I was seventeen, maybe eighteen in the picture, but I looked so sad. Mom said that everyone in _his _timeline was dead, even Goku and Gohan; that he was the only one to survive the androids, in turn becoming this hardened warrior for the sake of survival. I'm sure_ that's _the son my dad wishes he still had, not me. He was wearing Saiyan armor in the picture. I think that says enough. 

So I guess that means the _other _me never grew up with my father. I wonder if he ever wishes that he did? I hope not. He has it better. He doesn't have to go home every night to watch his own father ignore and avoid him. He doesn't have to be reminded everyday he looks in the mirror that his purple hair and blue eyes do nothing but serve as a constant reminder that_ true_ Saiyans don't have such colors. Goku's kids look like Saiyans. Why did I have to turn out to be such a freak? I wonder if _I _had black hair and black eyes, would my father hate me any less? Would he be proud of me instead of embarrassed? Would he finally think of me as his son? 

I think of when Goten and me saved my father from Majin Buu, and can remember his saying something about him being proud of me, but not much after that. Did he say it because he wanted a clear conscience before he died? So he could feel better the moment before he sacrificed his life by pretending that he actually gave a shit about me for once? I always think of what would have happened had he never actually died after he said that, wondering if things would be different this time around.   
  
  


I take a seat at the kitchen table and watch as Chi Chi cleans the rest of the blood off her son's face with a cotton ball and rubbing alcohol, complaining about this that and the other thing, just like always. Goku finished carrying in the rest of the firewood and places it at the door before walking up behind Goten to rest a strong hand on his son's shoulder. He begins to reminisce about how things never change, or something like that. I don't even know if he was talking about us or what. My mind is someplace else. 

As I look at their little family, carrying on like little families do, I think of how lucky Goten is. I can remember back when we were really little kids and how he used to cry at night when we had sleepovers because he wanted to meet his father and couldn't. He actually used to be jealous of _me_ because I had a dad and he didn't. 

I was so proud to have a dad back then, one who was strong and promised to train me someday. I would brag to everyone how great my dad was, how he was the strongest guy in the whole world, and _I _was his son. I guess I didn't know any better. My father was pretty much the be all and end all of male role models for me back then, and as far as I was concerned, he was the greatest. 

It wasn't until Goten's dad actually came back from the Other World that I realized how much of my relationship with my father was based on my own lies I started believing. I tried to cover it. I think I still do sometimes. But the fact remained that my father was nothing compared to Goku, or any other father for that matter. I would never be the strong Saiyan son that he always wanted. I would just be his burden - the twisting knife of disappointment and nothing more, no matter how hard I try. 

I know this now. 

Does it still make me sad? 

I don't know anymore. My whole life was built around killing myself for his attention, and once I let it all go, I felt such an emptiness inside - it's like a part of me had died that was never really there in the first place. I love my mom. I love Goten. But somehow, they'll never really fill that void. 

I once said - well, my future-self once said - that more than anything, he wanted to know what his father was like and what it would be like to be his son, even for just a day. Yamucha told me that once.   
  
  


Well, I don't think it's really worth all the pain to find out.   
  
  


**~ fin** **~**

  
  



End file.
